


The Love of the Wicked

by Niki



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Community: hc_bingo, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Disney Princess Jokes, M/M, No Healing Cock, POV Multiple, Sleeping Together, Team as Family, stalkers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niki/pseuds/Niki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course Tony picks up a vampire-wannabee stalker because really, their cases have been way too normal lately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bit Myself Shaving

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Rape/non-con (no penetrative rape)
> 
> **Time line:** Second season. Let's just pretend there was a longer time between SWAK and Twilight. (Kate lives.)
> 
> **Beta** by Neith, which is only fair _because the whole thing is her damn fault for hooking me on the series in the first place. Grr._
> 
> **H/C Bingo prompt:** Drugged

_“The love of the wicked is more dangerous than their hatred.” – Proverb_  


Gibbs looked at the empty desk of his senior agent and checked his watch again, then double checked from his computer. 09:16—enough for late but not enough to worry. It was Monday, after all. Knowing DiNozzo, he might still be hung over from some juvenile outing with his frat brothers or the current girlfriend.

He'd give him until half past before he called, unless they got a case.

Just 14 minutes more. 

He wasn't worried. He was completely engrossed in reading his e-mail. 

Car accident? Flat tire? Sudden illness or injury that landed him in the hospital during the weekend? Relapse with his lungs?

10 minutes, and the worry was slowly winning. Despite his reputation, it wasn't Tony's habit to be late without prior notice.

E-mails.

Damn it, he hated them in the best of days, much less... the elevator. That better be his agent or he was going to wish he was in the hospital instead.

It was, and all of Gibbs' worry transformed into fury. Looked like his first theory was correct after all. DiNozzo looked like he had come to work straight from someone's bed: his hair was barely tamed as if it hadn't seen a comb in ages but merely been finger-combed into a semblance of order, his clothing was way more casual than on a normal work day when they had not been called in in the small hours, blue jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, and the giant red hickey on the right side of his neck completed the picture. 

“Sorry I'm late,” he said, hurrying towards his desk. “I managed to sleep through my alarm.”

“Uh-huh,” Gibbs said, sceptically, staring at his neck pointedly.

“Or maybe you were... distracted?” Kate offered sweetly.

Tony frowned, looking confused.

“Okay,” Tony said slowly. “I'll bite. Distracted by...?”

“The company,” McGee said with barely contained glee. Gibbs knew how much the younger agent loved it when Tony got in trouble and this was Trouble with a capital t, full in sight of the team leader.

“I know it's hard to believe, good-looking guy like me, but I was, actually, alone,” Tony said lightly, as if he didn't bear the proof on his neck in a form of very fresh-looking bite.

“Your mouth says no, but your neck says yes,” Kate said, grinning.

Tony frowned again and ran a hand over his neck. 

“Don't tell me,” she went on. “You bit yourself shaving?” 

“Trust you to quote a chick flick,” Tony said, grinning, then sobered up. “I don't have a hickey.”

“Uhh, loverboy, you have the mother of all hickeys.”

“I do?” 

His reactions were off, Gibbs noted. Granted, it had been a while, but even he remembered that a bite like that was something you tend to notice. How could Tony be unaware of it?

Kate was offering him a small make up mirror, smirking, and Tony reached for it eagerly. He nearly dropped it when he got a look at his neck. The fingers of his free hand came up to touch the mark, and he grimaced when he poked at it.

“I was alone,” he said, quietly.

“That does not look like a bug bite, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said, but his anger was almost gone. Something was wrong.

Tony lowered the mirror and turned to look at him. 

“I went to bed alone, and I woke up alone. Boss, there's no way there should be any marks on my neck!”

The naked panic in his eyes was enough for Gibbs. This was not Tony trying to prank his co-workers, this was something serious.

He got up. “Go see if Abby can get a saliva sample off your skin,” he said, already in case mode.

“What? Someone broke in and sucked on his neck while he slept? Wouldn't you wake up for something like that?” McGee said, sceptically.

“Wait. You said you had trouble waking up...” Kate was sobering up too.

Tony paused and looked at Gibbs, panic still visible on his face.

“Have Ducky draw some blood,” he ordered. “We'll go check out your apartment.”

“Boss...” Tony looked reluctant.

“If you're a victim, you can't investigate. Hell, we shouldn't either, but do you really want me to call FBI?” An assault on a federal agent was a federal case, after all, and technically not their jurisdiction. But someone had done this to his agent, and he was damned if he let someone else take care of it.

Tony shook his head slowly, then fished out his keys and threw them to Gibbs before making his way to the elevator without another word.

“You believe him?” Kate asked, quietly.

“Name one of Tony's pranks or excuses that has wasted my time,” Gibbs said, grimly, and reached for his jacket. “Gear up.”

\- - -

Tony looked at his reflection in the shiny elevator door and fought down the rising panic. There was a reasonable explanation to this. It would turn out to be a allergic reaction to a bug bite. Or... or a vampire that could turn into a bat flew in through his window. 

No one broke into his apartment last night to give him a hickey. Because, really, who did something like that? And why? And why was it always him with the weird ones?

He wanted to touch the mark again, but knew he should try to preserve the evidence, if there was any. 

Abby could get DNA out of a fiber of carpeting, she'd get to the bottom of this. She'd have to, because what would someone who did this do for an encore?

He wasn't going there. 

Abby's lab was blissfully normal, with music pounding through the walls and a happy goth dancing around her domain. Maybe he should have brought her an offering of caffeine. Pretend this was a normal morning.

He wanted to say something light and humorous, he did. But what came out of his mouth was: “Abby, I need your help.”

“Tony!” Abby's smile widened and she turned the music down. “Wow,” she said, obviously spotting the hickey. “No turtleneck today?”

“That's rather why I'm here... Could you... could you get a swab, see if there's saliva on it? Test it?”

“What, didn't get her phone number? That is misuse of government resources,” she said, cheekily, but was reaching for a swab even as she spoke.

“Abs... I don't know how this happened,” he said quietly, not able to join in on her banter.

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn't conscious for it. Abby, I was alone in my apartment, and I... I may have been drugged.”

“Tony!” Suddenly his arms were full of a concerned goth, and he returned the hug desperately. 

“We'll get the vampire,” she vowed, letting go. 

She ran the swab over his skin and looked him in the eye without moving backwards.

“Are you okay?”

He wanted to say he was fine. He really did. But this was seriously freaking him out. He didn't say anything.

“Is there anything else? I mean, do you have other bites?”

Oh God, they hadn't even thought of that.

“I'll have to check,” he said quietly, though he thought he would have noticed anything on his torso while he was getting dressed, even if he had been too much in a rush to take a look into a mirror.

“I knew I'd get to say this one day,” Abby said, grinning. “Take your clothes off, Tony!”

“I have to get to the Autopsy to get you a blood sample. Maybe do it there?”

“Spoilsport,” Abby said, pouting, but then she turned serious again. “Do you want me to come with you? My babies can run the test on their own.”

“No, I... Thanks, Abby. I'll be fine. I'll bring the blood to you afterward, okay? And the rest of the team should have a ton of fingerprints for you soon.”

\- - -

They dusted the door for prints, then opened it. Gibbs could see Kate and McGee look curiously around the apartment while he led them to the bedroom. 

He could see how they'd see this as an opportunity—for all that he talked all the time Tony was actually pretty quiet about his private life, and the younger agents had never even seen his apartment. The giant bookcase filled with DVDs was as expected but the general neatness and the lack of your usual “bachelor pad” accouterments was probably surprising to them.

The bedroom showed signs of the hasty exit that morning, the bed was not only unmade but the blanket was almost on the floor, and the closet doors were hanging open. There was a stray sock by the door. 

“Okay. Don't snoop, but dust for prints any surface you think they might conceivably have touched on their way to the bed.”

“You think we can really get anything useful out of his bed frame?” Kate asked cheekily. 

“Abby could spend the rest of her life sorting the prints out!” McGee said, even as he opened his kit.

“Concentrate, people,” Gibbs all but growled, and returned to the living room. 

No wonder Tony hadn't wanted to let them come here, especially without him. Gibbs knew the others still weren't taking the threat seriously but hoped that wouldn't stop them from doing their jobs. 

He frowned, trying not to think about someone having Tony's defenseless body at their mercy, and putting their mark on it. What else had they done? 

\- - -

Having explained the story once more Tony was sitting on one of the autopsy tables (all of them thankfully empty of cadavers at the moment) while Ducky drew vials of blood from his arm.

“Mr Palmer, if you could kindly document the bruise,” he said, and Tony turned his head and bared his neck for the camera.

“Any non-consensual mark on the body counts as an assault,” Ducky explained. 

“Wouldn't it be sexual assault?”

“It is a bite mark, Mr Palmer, you cannot prove sexual intent. There was this girl a few years ago, who had... yes, Anthony?”

“I need to...” He swallowed and tried again. “I have to see if there is anything else.”

“Of course, my boy. As I was saying...”

Tony tuned him out and concentrated on removing his shirt, looking down his chest and arms. 

“Nothing on your back,” Palmer volunteered.

“Thanks, Jimmy.”

He looked at his jean-clad legs and bit his lip. If there was something... he didn't even want to know. He sighed, and got up to unbutton the jeans.

\- - - 

Gibbs made his way to the kitchen and looked around. A few dishes in the sink, no pizza boxes in the trash can. He took his phone out and pressed the speed dial for Tony.

“Anything?”

“No other marks on my body,” came the subdued reply. “Nothing on the tests yet. Kids trashing up my home?” 

Gibbs could hear the forced lightness of the question as well as the very real worry underneath it. Tony was very protective of his privacy and this, having them in his space, especially after last night's visitor, had to be driving him crazy.

“I'll keep them contained,” he promised dryly, knowing Tony would realize he really did mean it. “What did you eat last night?”

“A sandwich. Should still have most of the stuff in the fridge. Cheese, ham, tomato. Drank some juice.”

“We'll be right back. You start listing everyone that has been in your apartment.”

“How far back? You know prints can last for years.”

“You do clean occasionally, don't you?”

“I don't wash my window sills weekly, boss.”

“Let's start with half a year and go back if necessary.”

He hung up and started processing the food in the fridge, bagging and tagging everything now that he knew Tony's last meal came from there and not from a restaurant. Then he moved on to the dishes. 

“We've done all the doors and the windows,” Kate said. “And the bed.”

Her voice invited him to comment on that. He merely nodded towards the kitchen door and asked, “Light switches?”

“Done, boss,” said McGee. 

“Do the fridge door, just in case.”

\- - -

Abby liked evidence. She liked delving into a mystery and coaxing the truth out of different objects and materials. But she eyed the contents of Tony's fridge with a frown. For once she wasn't able to keep the objects separate from the fear she had seen on her friend's face. 

“You want me to give them to someone else?” Gibbs asked, but not in the pointed way he would have from anyone else. Abby knew he really meant it.

“No. I don't trust Tony's safety to anyone else,” she said decisively.

“That's my girl. Anything on the blood test?”

“Some foreign chemical, definitely. Still trying to figure out what. Is he taking any drugs at the moment?”

“No, he isn't,” came the reply from the door and Abby rushed over to hug Tony again.

“Is there any chance I'll be getting my dishes back? That's my favorite glass,” Tony said with a whine, and Abby grinned. Tony who whined was a good sign. Tony never whined about important things. 

“You know the procedure, Tony,” she said, patting his hand consolingly.

“Boy do I ever. I've got the list for your fingerprint hunt.”

\- - -

The list seemed surprisingly short, considering the fact Tony dated all the time and seemed to enjoy a busy social life. Then again, from the amount of hours he put in during the nights and weekends at work, maybe most of it really was only talk.

“Ooh, there are guys too,” Abby said with a suggestive leer.

Tony shrugged, looking distinctly uncomfortable. 

Gibbs could see the light dawning on her face, followed by a cringe and a quick look at his direction. 

“You dog,” Abby said, grinning. She was Abby, after all. She bounced back fast. “Why didn't you ever say? We could have gone guy watching!”

“Not a thing you advertise in law enforcement, Abby. Or when you work closely with organizations with Don't Ask Don't Tell.”

“But I'm your friend!”

“Sorry, Abby, nothing personal. It's just... you get used to hiding, you know? Especially after...”

“After what?”

“After you've already lost friends because of it,” Tony said quietly, and Abby reached out for another hug. 

Tony hugged her back, and finally turned his eyes to look at Gibbs.

Gibbs, who had no idea what his face was showing at the moment. Who had no idea what to say. But he had to respond to the fear in the younger man's eyes with reassurance.

“You know no one in the team will have a problem with it, Tony,” he said quietly. Then, realizing he couldn't actually promise that, went on: “Because if they do, then I have a problem with them.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

He had to get out of the lab, had to get away from Tony for a moment. He left without a word to the still hugging pair, and made his way to the elevator. The only thought in his head was, _Tony's not straight_. Then, _so what, I am._

_Right?_

\- - -

“Okay, unless we get a call, this is our priority. McGee, you go DiNozzo's list through with him to identify everyone. Kate, make like you're busy in case the Director stops by. I'll be...” Gibbs trailed off as his phone rang.

“Yeah, Gibbs. What have you got, Abs? Good work.” He hung up. “She's e-mailing us the results of the blood test. You were definitely drugged, Tony. Kate, find out all you can about the drug – what it does, where you can get it, and is it traceable.”

“Does it have to be McGee?” Tony asked, plaintively. 

“Would you prefer Kate?” Gibbs asked pointedly, and Tony realized his boss had actually chosen the lesser evil. 

“Abby, maybe?” he offered, smiling slightly. 

“List. Now.”

He preceded the Probie into a conference room, not really looking forward to explaining the situation. He offered his printout to the younger man, and sat down by the table, trying to look relaxed. It's not like his team was finding out a secret he had carefully guarded for half his life.

“It's a chronological list,” he said, as McGee started reading through the names, his eyebrows rising.

Tony closed his eyes, leaned back on his chair and started to go through his memories, recounting pertinent facts in as impersonal tone as he could. Soon he could hear McGee taking notes.

He started with the previous time he'd had to take a date to his place (Sheila Cullen, met her at a club, one night stand, from out of town so she didn't have a place to stay, had to take her to his, prints most likely only in the bedroom and the bathroom), and worked backwards, tracking time through their cases.

“Mila Keegan, wasn't she the...”

“The bartender in the Smith case, yes. She hadn't seen anything, so she wasn't a witness, so when she called, I figured why not? We met at a cafe, she admitted to never having seen the Third Man despite liking Wells' work, so naturally I invite her over. Her prints would be in the living room, bathroom, kitchen... kitchen table, shower... You get the picture, McGeek, I'm sure.”

“The next name is only marked down as 'Ryan',” the younger agent said in a commendably bland voice.

“Never exchanged last names. I think Ryan was his real first name, though. Not always the case, you know.”

“I don't, actually. Why was he in your apartment?”

“You really need me to spell it out for you? He was there for sex, for a blowjob by the door, for a fuck in the...”

“I get the point!”

“Prints on the door and the bed frame. Might have been a lawyer. And not just because he was good with his mouth. Some word choices earlier in the evening, and the fact he didn't want to go to his place.”

He was projecting the “promiscuous, careless DiNozzo” with all his concentration, as if his heart wasn't pounding with the fear of what his seemingly careless revelations were going to mean in the future, if McGee would ever be able to work with him like he had, if he'd lost the modicum of respect he had to have due to his position in the team. 

If he'd lost another potential friend because of his preferences.

Maybe he should have been gentler in the way he let the other man know?

“Two weeks back from that, Harriet Miller, hairdresser, prints in the bedroom and possibly the bathroom, I was asleep when she left. Said she had a roommate so we couldn't go to her place, could have been married for all I know. Didn't seem married, but you never know.”

The list went on.

\- - -

“Casanova there all talk?” Kate asked from McGee after they had exited the conference room and Tony had disappeared down the stairs. “You were much faster than I expected. Or couldn't he remember any details?”

“Not a problem, apparently,” McGee said. “He could list them by heart, in chronological order, even providing details as to which parts of the apartment they had been. His recall is uncanny.” He looked around as if afraid someone would hear him compliment the senior agent and resident pain in the ass. 

“So it isn't all talk,” she asked more quietly.

“I shouldn't... Well, there weren't as many as I... But people... Women just seem to fall for his charm like...”

“Wait, you said people. Which you then corrected to 'women'. Is there something you should share with the class, Timmy?”

“Not all of those names are women,” Gibbs' voice answered from behind them, and Kate almost couldn't control her reaction. Damn that man and his sneaking ways. 

“And you will not give him hell for it. Not today, not ever,” Gibbs admonished, then turned to look at McGee.

“Anything useful in tracking them down?”

“Very little. Apparently he seldom shared many personal details with the... with those that he didn't share full names with.”

“Men,” Kate clarified. “Anonymous hookups with men. That's what you're talking about, right?”

“Remember what I said, Agent Todd. McGee, take your notes down to Abby.”

\- - -

“Unless they have criminal records or work in law enforcement, Abby is not going to get hits on those prints,” Gibbs said, following them to the lab.

“I think 'Seth' may have been a cop. And I don't think Seth was his real name. So we have to get prints from everyone? Boss...”

“You have their phone numbers?”

“Well, yes. But, you know, I'm not the call back kinda guy, so...”

“McGee will contact them and explain we need their prints to exclude them from a crime scene. No context needed.”

“You save the numbers, though?” Kate asked, smirking.

“You never know, I might find myself with a dry spell.”

“And you just need to snap your fingers for any of your old conquests to come running?”

The slow grin that grew on Tony's face was both insolent and seductive. “I make sure they leave satisfied,” he said, somehow more believable for the lack of the leer.

\- - -

“I never asked... Are you comfortable with us working on this?” Gibbs asked, and Tony turned to stare at him incredulously. Since when did Gibbs do caring?

“I have a choice?”

“Officially, this should be FBI's case.”

“Can't prove that is connected to my job. That would mean the local LEOs.”

“So?”

“So, what? You'll call Fornell and tell I showed up to work with a hickey? Like he'd believe it wasn't consensual.”

“He'd believe me.”

“You really think I want anyone else going through my sordid little life?” Not that he'd have wanted anyone in his team to know the details of his sordid little life either but the can of worms was open now, and that should be the worst of it.

\- - -

The only matches they got for their prints was “Seth” (detective James Stiller) and Mila Keegan, as she had been a witness in the case and they'd had to exclude her prints from the scene.

Kate had finished looking into the drug, but had very little to say.

“The technical name is like half a page long, but it's sold only under the name of 'Somnifer,' a drug usually prescribed for serious insomnia. It's not very common, smaller pharmacies might not carry it. ”

The drug had been in his food, as expected, traces of it in every food item Abby had tested.

“Wouldn't that be risking an overdose?” 

“Maybe he didn't care?”

“At least that means it can't have been there long. Assuming you ate something off your fridge the day before, too.”

“It's a good thing I had no time for breakfast then, isn't it?”

\- - - 

“There's not much more we can do today.”

So they weren't going to work night and day over this. The thought made Tony want to slap himself in the head. Of course they wouldn't. There wasn't much they could do, anyway, and why should they, over a bite mark?

He had avoided thinking about what all of it meant all day, but now the feeling of exposure, of violation, returned. It was just a bite. But... Someone had been in his home when he was incapacitated, had had him at their mercy, had left their mark on him. What else had they done? He slept in the nude. The idea of someone watching him, touching him in the night... What were they going to do next?

“I can't go home, Boss,” he said, quietly. 

“Not alone, no,” Gibbs said, firmly. 

\- - -

Tony didn't argue when Gibbs drove him home for which the older man was glad. It wasn't like he was going to let Tony get out of his sight but he was damned if he was going to explain his reasoning to him. 

They picked up a pizza on the way as the contents of Tony's fridge were in Abby's lab. They also bought a bottle of soda, not wanting to risk even one bottle of beer. 

Gibbs could see discomfort in the way Tony held himself and almost suggested they'd go to his place. But he didn't want to encourage Tony to run away from discomfort. It would only make it harder to return the longer he stayed away.

He retrieved some glasses from the kitchen while Tony found them a film he wanted to watch. Gibbs didn't care which one, he just wanted the young man to feel comfortable in his own home again. And if that meant dozing through a Tony-approved film, then that was what he would do.

They ate the pizza in silence, watching a mindless action movie. 

“I didn't feel like a drama,” Tony said quietly as things were exploding on the screen. “Or a police procedural. Although they can be hilarious.”

“I'd have thought they'd piss you off.”

“Sometimes. Does that mean we're not watching the Marine?” The grin that accompanied the question was almost real.

“Not unless you want to explain to the LEOs why someone shot your TV.”

\- - -

After the movie ended Tony let Gibbs take the first shower while he dug up a pillow and a blanket for the sofa. He doubted he'd get much sleep but he had to admit he felt safer with Gibbs there. Awkward, too, as if today's revelations would make it more likely that the man would realize how very much he wanted the other man in his space, how much he wanted to invite him to share his bed.

He looked at the closed door, and thought about how the vampire wannabee stalker had gotten in the previous night. Maybe he should have changed the locks? Maybe he should have gone to a hotel. He was surprised Gibbs hadn't just made him stay at his place. 

Then again, did Gibbs' door even have a lock?

And did he care about his reasons if they led to him having Gibbs naked in his shower? He'd never be able to have a shower there again without thinking about that. And his own shower was just a tiny bit longer than it otherwise might have been because he couldn't stop thinking about it. It felt wrong to touch himself thinking about the man in the next room, dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, about to sleep on his couch... where was he?

The relief of the release lasted only until he got to his bedroom. Definitely no sleeping naked tonight. He was quite frankly very skeptical about his chances of getting any sleep. He had to change the sheets before he could make himself lie down, and knew that if Gibbs wasn't there he would be sleeping on the couch.

Maybe there was some sense in spending the night in his apartment, after all. He wasn't sure he wouldn't end up burning his bed if he had more time to think about things.

Maybe the shocks of the day had exhausted him because he started feeling sleepy almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Maybe he wouldn't have time to think and worry after all. Maybe he'd get lucky and fall asl...


	2. Escalating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some rape culture-y dialogue, and what can be understood as slut-shaming.

Tony felt groggy when he woke up, blindly groping for the alarm that was blaring on the nightstand. Why was he so goddamn tired? His skin was itching, and he reached under his t-shirt to scratch at his stomach. He felt the familiar flakes of dried come on his skin and his eyes shot open. 

He hadn't... he'd spent the night alone. He hadn't jerked off in bed. It was very unlikely he had a wet dream after coming in the shower. His sweats weren't messy. 

He stared at his hand in horror before jumping up from the bed and running to his backpack. His hands shook as he dug up his kit, got rid of his shirt, and swabbed at the mess on his stomach, scraping flakes into an evidence bag before he remembered Gibbs was there. 

Gibbs, who was supposed to keep him safe. 

“Boss?” he asked, voice shaking. 

He could only see the back of the couch from his position by the door and his word had no effect on the supposed occupant. 

“Boss!”

He knew his voice sounded panicky but damn it, he felt panicky, and the increased volume helped because Gibbs was there in a second, crouching by him, looking at his stomach, at his hands, at the evidence bag.

“Fuck, DiNozzo,” he said on an exhale, almost a whisper. “He got us both.”

His eyes were instantly on Gibbs, looking for signs of... interference and the older man must have realized that because he explained. “Drugged. I haven't slept this long in... Where the hell was it?”

“We need to... to document this, take pictures,” Tony got out, turning to look at his stomach again, at the nauseating evidence of his stalker. 

“You got a camera?”

“My phone. Nightstand.”

Gibbs was back with the phone in an instant, and Tony reached for it, hands still shaking. 

“Just tell me how,” Gibbs said, and his voice was low, soothing, as if addressing a child... or a victim. 

Tony swallowed convulsively. He didn't trust his voice anymore, reaching for the phone again, finding the camera function, then pointed wordlessly at the right button before closing his eyes and standing up. He fought the instinct to suck in his stomach. The whole situation was mind blowing. His boss was taking pictures of his naked torso and of the evidence on... Evidence. Sperm. Someone else's come on his skin, someone he didn't know, who could make him helpless, vulnerable, could take down Gibbs, could walk into his apartment without anything stopping him. Him, it had to be him, right?

“Shower,” he whispered, knowing his desperation was clearly audible in it, and then he was gone.

\- - -

Gibbs stared at the phone in his hands, eyes on the last picture he took. 

He had been careless. They hadn't taken the threat seriously. He should have secured the door somehow. Maybe pulled the couch against it. A kitchen chair. They shouldn't have used any dishes in the apartment. They shouldn't have been there in the first place. They should have gone to his place, a safe house, a hotel, anything. Anything they would have done if it had been a death threat, anything with credible risk of violence. 

Tony had said the FBI wouldn't have taken the whole thing seriously. Had they? They had spent the day collecting finger prints, checking out Tony's ex-lovers, figuring out where the drug had come from... but none of them had considered what might come next. The whole thing had been hinky, yes, but had any of them considered the thing an actual threat to Tony?

Not McGee and Todd, at least. Had he and Abby been any better?

Someone had come to the apartment while they were sleeping and what? Jerked off while watching Tony sleep? The whole idea made him furious. What stopped him from doing more? What was the end game? Was he going to keep upping the stakes until...

Until what? Rape or murder? Who the fuck was this guy?

At least they had his DNA now. 

He checked the time, then realized the shower was still running, Tony had been there for over fifteen minutes. He'd give him another ten, empathizing if not understanding how violated he must feel. 

\- - -

Tony sat on the shower floor, knees drawn to his chest, arms around them, rapidly cooling water falling over him. He had scrubbed his skin until it was red and raw, until every last speck of evidence was gone from his body. 

He felt dirty, violated, unsafe. Betrayed. He didn't want to feel any of it, but least of all the last one. It wasn't Gibbs' fault, it wasn't. He wasn't Superman, his presence did not guarantee safety. He had gotten hurt in the man's company before, shot, concussed, bruised. This was not his fault. 

And it was okay. He wasn't harmed. There was nothing wrong with him physically. There were no marks this morning... 

Marks. Somehow, this didn't feel any less visible than the bruise on his neck. It was like he had been marked, again, like he was a possession, or a lover. He felt nauseated again. 

There was a knock on the door. 

“DiNozzo, you okay?”

Gibbs. No, he wasn't fucking okay. He was curled up in his shower like a scared kid.

“I'm fine,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the water. “I'll be out in a bit.”

“Okay. Good.”

It took him five more minutes to get up from the floor, soap his body one more time before rinsing off the body wash and stepping out. He dried himself in a towel before realizing he had forgotten to take clean clothes with him. 

Nothing to it. He wrapped the towel around his waist and made his way to his bedroom... only to pause at the door. 

He didn't want to go in there. But his clothes were there.

“Pack a bag,” Gibbs' voice said from the kitchen. 

A bag. He could do that. A bag meant he didn't need to come back. Not tonight. Not tomorrow night. He didn't particularly care where he would end up, as long as it wasn't here, not on that bed, this room. 

From the sounds in the kitchen he figured out Gibbs was bagging the rest of his dishes. Was that it, then? Was the sedative in the glasses themselves? 

\- - -

Gibbs didn't know what he had expected, maybe Tony in one of the expensive suits he seemed to carry like armor most days, but he seemed to have gone into another direction entirely, wearing jeans and a black hoodie over a t-shirt—not exactly looking like he just grabbed whatever came to hand first but definitely going for comfort over style. He looked good, of course he did, even though the dark shirt made him look even paler, and his hair was maybe a little messier than usually.

He was carrying a duffel, obviously filled with more clothes than his usual go bag. He wasn't planning on getting back here anytime soon.

“Want to grab some DVDs with you?” Gibbs asked quietly. 

“Nah, I'm good. I mean, you don't have a DVD player, do you, Boss?”

The certainty in his voice about his future location was a relief to Gibbs. He had been half-afraid his failure to protect Tony would mean he'd lost the younger man's faith, that he'd prefer to stay anywhere but at his place. 

“No. You can bring yours,” he said, casually, confirming Tony's assumption without actually voicing the invitation. Or order, as the case may be.

“Only if you watch the Marine with me, Boss.”

He made sure his glare said he had no intention of ever finding out what that even was, and nearly spoiled the effect by smiling when Tony's answering grin reached his eyes.

\- - -

They delivered the new evidence to Abby, then had Ducky draw some blood from them both, just to confirm the presence of a drug. 

Tony had feared telling their team mates about the newest development, sure he would have found it funny if it had happened to anyone else. They surprised him, though, seeming to take the whole thing more seriously today. 

“That is not a... threat, as such. This is not someone with a grudge,” Kate said, obviously in a profiler mode. “This is someone who is obsessed with Tony.”

“You sure pick 'em, don't you, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said dryly. 

“Ex? One night stand?” McGee suggested.

“No... I don't think it's someone he's slept with. They'd be more likely to contact him directly: messages, gifts...”

“Boiled bunnies,” Tony suggested.

Kate went on as it he hadn't interrupted. “This is someone inching towards his goal.”

“His goal being... me, right?”

“Taking you, yes.”

“And my co-operation is not deemed necessary.”

“At this stage, no. I think it might be someone who hasn't ever really met you, never talked to you, someone who has been watching you, so that you are more of an... object, to them. You know, how you look at women, Tony.”

Tony flinched, as if she had punched him. Comparing his treatment of women to this... Kate seemed to realize she had gone too far, but didn't voice the apology that showed on her expression. 

“Great, we'll just find someone I've never met, whose taken a liking to the way I look. Piece of cake.”

“It has to be someone whose seen you regularly, like a neighbor, a barista or a waiter... Someone who'd have seen you often but not in a way you'd actually _meet_ them.”

“Someone who jogs in the same park,” Gibbs said.

“Video rental store,” McGee suggested.

“Grocery store,” Tony added.

“Make a list,” Gibbs ordered. 

\- - -

The list was as short as his previous one had been, and Kate started to reconsider her profile on Tony. When asked to recount his usual week... the man spent most of his supposed free time either in the Naval Yard or at home. Alone. 

Kate had expected shopping sprees, bar crawls... but what she got was a lonely man watching movies at home while eating take away pizza.

He jogged every day he had time, though, and usually in the same park, which was a depressingly large area to find suspects in. His, well, their, regular coffee shop was an easier proposition, and they could get the worker's prints from their coffee cups and get caffeine into their boss at the same time, which was a welcome bonus. Tony seemed to need some as well, judging by the rate he seemed to be swallowing yawns. 

Then again, unless Abby gave them prints to compare them to... And they couldn't exactly go around collecting DNA samples from random people without probable causes.

\- - -

After completing the list and doing the coffee run (in gloves to preserve the prints) they settled down to do background research which may or may not have included McGee hacking into various company pages to find lists of their employees.

Tony was still yawning, and seemed to have problems keeping his eyes open. Kate could see Gibbs shooting looks at him that may have tried being irritated but mostly came across as worried. 

“Go take a nap in Abby's lab,” he said, finally.

“'M fine, Boss.”

“Now.”

Tony left without a further protest which made all of them worry. 

“Did he get a bigger dose than you?” Kate asked. 

“He always reacts strongly to drugs,” Gibbs said, dismissively.

“But he wasn't this bad yesterday, and you only used the glasses, right? There can't have been that much of the drug in them.”

Gibbs looked at her in silence for a minute before reaching for his phone.

“Abby? Tony asleep? Good. Did you get our blood tested. Really? How about the glasses? Thanks.”

“Well?”

“Tony had way more of Somnifer in his bloodstream than me. It's possible the stalker dosed him somehow while he was there, just in case.”

“That's creepy,” McGee said.

“Creepier than having someone masturbate all over you?” Kate asked, then cringed, instantly picturing the scene, and did Gibbs just growl?

\- - -

“Okay, recap. Who are we looking for?”

“We need someone who can pick locks, has access to prescription sedatives, and has a weird obsession on Tony. The usual stuff: male, white, twenty to forty years old, gainfully employed, possibly no criminal record because he doesn't care about leaving DNA evidence but we can hope.”

“Why 'gainfully employed'?”

“He hasn't taken anything, not money, not even Tony's gun.”

\- - -

Tony was still asleep when Gibbs came down to the lab in the afternoon. Abby had her headphones on, obviously not willing to work without music. He walked behind her and removed them, making her jump. She frowned until she realized it was him, and that he was bearing gifts. 

“What've you got, Abs?” he asked, handing her a Caf-Pow! and sipping his own coffee.

“The drug is everywhere,” she said, her welcoming smile disappearing. “In every food item, in all the dishes—you got your dose from the glasses. It's brilliant—twisted, but brilliant. He's painted all the surfaces with the solution and it's practically invisible and mostly tasteless when it mixes with the food and drinks. The solution he's used is stronger than the prescription pill, he has to have some chemical know-how to prepare it.”

“And it can't be administered in gas form? You have to ingest it?”

“We talked it over with Ducky, whether it had to be ingested or if skin exposure would be enough, and came to the conclusion the latter would be too risky to count on. He could of course change his methods but with this Tony is safe as long as he doesn't eat or drink anything the stalker has had a chance to meddle with.”

“I'm taking him to my place tonight.”

“If the guy is a stalky stalker he might know that,” Abby said. “And you never lock your door.”

“You want to go through my dishes, too?”

“Yes.”

She was as serious as Gibbs had ever seen her. Of course, he had come to the same conclusion already. If this was someone who had been following Tony for a while he'd know Gibbs had taken Tony to his house after he had been released from the hospital after the plague, as well as some earlier occasions when something or other had broken down in his apartment.

“We'll eat out.”

“And drink straight from bottles!”

“Yes, Abs. Do you want to wake up Tony?”

“I'm awake. What time is it?” 

“Time to go home,” Gibbs said, trying not to smile at the sight of a sleepily blinking Tony sitting up with his hair pointing at every direction and his shirts riding up, showing a bit of skin between them and the jeans. 

It made him look young and vulnerable, or maybe that was just the reminder of the condition that sliver of skin had been in this morning, and suddenly admiring it made Gibbs feel dirty. 

“I slept the whole day?”

“You had way more Somnifer in your system than the bossman,” Abs consoled him. 

“Is the DNA profile ready?”

“I wish. You know it takes 24 hours, Tony. We're not in a movie.”

Tony got up, rubbing his eyes like a child. “Did I miss anything?” he asked.

“Kate and McGee making endless phone calls,” Gibbs said.

“McGee getting flustered when one of the guys flirted with him,” Abby elaborated, smirking.

“Let me guess, Ryan?” Tony said with a smirk of his own, and Gibbs had to look away when the reminder of the fact Tony had slept with (other) men made a spike of jealousy go through him, causing almost physical pain. 

“The lawyer? Totally a lawyer. Wouldn't mind another go with you, either, from what I hear,” Abby said with a suggestive smile.

“Maybe you should tone down the flirting if it's attracting this kind of attention,” Gibbs said, tetchily. 

“What, are you going to tell him to stop dressing like he's 'asking for it' next, Gibbs?” Abby asked with a rare flash of irritation. 

Gibbs admitted that that had not been a very proper thing to say—to himself, he wouldn't apologize aloud.

“But I like those short skirts and tank tops so much,” Tony said, smiling, obviously taking Gibbs' attitude in stride. 

“You slut,” Abby told him, swatting his ass, and Gibbs would not be jealous of Abby, he just would not. 

What was it with this case that made him forget he was a happily heterosexual man with no inappropriate feelings towards his senior field agent? 

But he knew the answer. The fact that someone was trying to lay a claim on what was his.

And was he any better than the stalker if he thought of Tony like that?

\- - -

Both men were quiet on the way to Gibbs' house, Tony still feeling groggy and sleepy. 

The first thing he did when they got there was to take a quick shower, hoping to wake himself up enough to get something eaten before he went back to sleep in the guest room. 

They ate Chinese on the sofa in companionable silence. Tony was so happy it was Gibbs—that meant there was no need for him to make small talk, to fill the room with chatter as he would with anyone else. He didn't have the energy for it so he was glad they were able to sit and eat in silence without it feeling oppressive.

Tony kept trying to hide his yawning until he realized he didn't need to do that either.

“At least I don't need to worry about not falling asleep,” he said, quietly.

That morning he had been resolved to never sleep again but right now nothing seemed as tempting as sleeping for weeks. 

“Good night, Tony,” Gibbs said, smiling just a little, maybe only with his eyes, and the use of his given name warmed Tony's heart as much as the nearly gentle tone. 

It wasn't quite the tone he used with victims of crimes, after all, and nothing like what he used with his coworkers. So... that had to mean he cared, right?

\- - -

Gibbs woke up slowly, and cursed as soon as his brain came online. He was on his couch, still sitting up, half finished cup of coffee on the table in front of him, next to his pistol. He had no recollection of falling asleep. It felt like yesterday morning, and he was up and running towards the guestroom before finishing the thought. 

He came to a halt at the door, heart almost stopping. 

Tony was lying on his stomach in the middle of the bed, naked, bruises around his wrists that he realized were shaped like fingerprints when he got closer. There was dried semen on his lower back, or something that looked very much like it.

He looked dead. He looked like any other corpse in any other murder scene. He looked beautiful, his skin glowing in the morning sun, and Gibbs hated himself for noticing the enticing curve of his back, his ass, his thighs.

His hand didn't shake when he reached out to rest his fingers on Tony's neck to test his pulse, and he most certainly did not sag in relief when he found it, Tony's blood pumping healthy and strong under his fingertips. 

Tony did not wake up to the touch. Of course he didn't, if he could sleep through someone doing that to him, holding him down and...

Gibbs forced himself to leave the room, to get the camera from Tony's bag (despite the belief he was safe he had still prepared for the worst) to document the scene. Should he wake Tony up first? 

He wouldn't, if it was anyone else. Not in case the positioning of the body was important. But it felt wrong to take pictures of Tony—especially a naked, unconscious Tony—without his knowledge or consent. 

But he took the photos. Because it was a crime scene, not his guest bedroom. Tony was a victim of a crime, not his coworker, not his friend, not his... whatever he wasn't, and would never be.

He collected a sample of the dried semen, then retrieved a washcloth and washed the remains off the younger man's body. Tony started murmuring and twitching under his ministrations, and soon he blinked his eyes open.

“Boss?”

“I'm so sorry,” he got out, all rules forgotten in the face of the innocent trust in Tony's eyes. 

He hadn't been able to keep him safe, twice now, not even in his own home, and the guilt was reaching near unbearable proportions. 

“Oh God, what did he do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know the Marine came out later, but it was such a perfect movie to use. (Not that Tony would ever actually show it to Gibbs because the storyline is way too close to home.)


	3. Tony is Not a Disney Princess

“Are you sure you want to come to work?” Gibbs asked, and now the gentle tone just made Tony angry.

“Where the hell else would I go?” he asked. “At least I've been safe at the Yard so far.”

The other man didn't flinch but there was something on his face that told Tony that he'd scored a hit. Maybe he should feel bad about that. But Gibbs was supposed to keep him safe, for fuck's sake! He wasn't supposed to... to...

“I need to be there,” he said, anger suddenly gone.

It had just been masking the desperation and anxiety he felt. He had spent ages in the shower again, even though Gibbs had gotten rid of the 'evidence' before he even woke up. He'd felt exposed, raw, used. 

The stalker had been on top of him and rubbed himself against... That was the only conclusion he could come to from the bruising, and the location of the... 

The next step would be actual penetration. He just knew it, from the progress of the nights. 

He was never going to sleep again. 

Anywhere. 

Well, maybe in Abby's lab, he amended as he started yawning in the car.

Neither man had said a word since they'd left the house and even though Tony didn't really blame Gibbs for the failure of keeping him safe, he wasn't about to apologize. And not just because of a stupid rule either. 

He shot a quick look at the other man and saw he was holding the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. His expression was tight as well, anger and something Tony couldn't place. It had to be hard on Gibbs, too, him getting hurt on his watch. 

“It's not your fault,” he said quietly, turning to look out of the window again. It wasn't, and he did know it. Gibbs wasn't superhero, his home wasn't automatic shelter. 

Gibbs didn't say a word, and he turned to look at him again. He looked even angrier, pressed the wheel even harder, drove even faster. 

“It's not,” he repeated.

“The hell it isn't,” Gibbs got out from behind clenched teeth. 

“Boss...”

“My house. You... in my house. Some bastard has gotten through me—twice!—to hurt you, and... I'm supposed to keep you safe. All of you. My team, my responsibility.”

Well, it's not like Tony had thought there was something personal about his protectiveness. Even though he didn't expect anything it still hurt, and on top of everything that he had already had to feel that morning it was too much. He lost all interest in trying to make Gibbs feel better about his perceived failure and fell silent again.

\- - -

He sent Tony downstairs to Autopsy for the usual blood test and recording of the bruises, and told him to go to Abby's lab next seeing as he was still yawning.

Tony went without a word, without even a glance at his direction. 

Despite what he said in the car... how could the younger man _not_ blame him? It was his job... No, he told himself. Yes, it was his job, but Tony was so much more than just a member of his team, keeping him safe was more than just a job—it was an instinct, essential to who he was.

And he kept failing to protect the people he should. Shannon, Kelly, Tony. It didn't even freak him out anymore to be thinking about them in the same context. If this mess had done one thing, it was to strip off all his pretenses. 

Tony was important to him, family important. And not like a son. So if that meant he was something other than straight... so be it. He knew he cared too much, but there was nothing to be done about it, now or later. 

What mattered now was keeping Tony alive. 

He was glad Tony wasn't around when he explained to the others what had happened. He didn't think he could have put it so bluntly if the younger man was there to hear it but didn't think forcing Tony to explain it to their team mates would work either. 

He'd hate the fact they knew. He'd hate knowing they had seen the photos.

Gibbs hated it too. The vulnerability of his naked form was rousing all his protective instincts and if Kate or McGee had said one unprofessional thing about Tony's naked body he might have punched them.

“I think we all know what's coming next,” Gibbs said, quietly. “But will that be the end?”

“You mean, will he kill him after... after raping him?”

Gibbs saw both McGee and Kate flinch at her words and was doubly glad Tony wasn't there.

“Not tonight, I think,” Kate said, brow furrowing in thought.

Gibbs growled. “Nothing's going to happen tonight.”

“I just meant...”

“I know what you meant. And it's not going to happen.”

“Boss... the cameras were useless at Tony's because there is so much traffic into and out of the building but with your place...”

“There are no cameras anywhere convenient. Why didn't we set up cameras last night?”

“Because all of us believed—naively—that my house would be safe.”

_Because we **still** didn't take the threat seriously._

\- - -

“I don't get it,” Abby said when Gibbs arrived to inquire after results. “Why is Tony asleep again?”

“He got a bigger dose again.”

“Yes, but how? I've been doing the calculations, and they don't add up. Yesterday, the amount you both got from the glasses... it wouldn't have been enough. Enough maybe that you wouldn't wake up if someone was on the door, but definitely not enough for Tony not to wake up if someone tried to inject him with something, make him swallow something, or pour something into his nose—the only ways Somnifer can be administered. And there were no traces of any other drug. So how did the stalky stalker make him sleep through jerking off on him? And where was the drug last night? It had to be enough to make Tony sleep through some quite rough handling. What did you eat?”

“Chinese, and not from our usual place either. No one knew where we were going, and even if someone was following us...”

“So we're missing something. We're missing something big and obvious.”

They both turned to look at sleeping Tony. His sweatshirt covered the bite on his neck and clothes covered almost every inch of his body except for his face but all Gibbs could see was him as he had been this morning—bare, vulnerable.

“And until we figure out what it is this is just going to get worse,” he said quietly, knowing he was showing more than he should, more than he ever would with the two members of the team up at the bullpen. 

\- - -

“No matches for the DNA yet,” Abby reported when Tony woke up after four.

“I slept the whole day again? Why didn't you wake me up?”

“It's not like you can work the case,” she said, quietly. 

“I can work on something! We have tons of cold cases to choose from.”

“Tony... it's okay to need a little time off with... you know, everything that's going on.”

“I can take that you think that but it's freaking the hell out of me that Gibbs is letting me waste two days sleeping!”

“He cares about you,” Abby said with conviction. 

“He cares about victims,” Tony said, dismissively. “I'm a victim.”

“It's more than that, and you know it! I mean, it must be killing him that he can't protect a member of his team.”

“Whereas I'm having a fucking picnic with this,” Tony snapped, then regretted it instantly. “I'm sorry, Abby, I...”

Abby pulled him into a tight hug. “Shh. We'll get the bastard. As soon as I figure out what I'm missing.”

\- - - 

“Question,” Tony said after joining the others in the bullpen. “Why a sleeping pill? Why not Rohypnol or some other date rape drug?”

“Obviously, non-responsiveness is a factor,” Kate said, calmly, as if they were discussing any other case, and not his impending rape and possible murder.

Okay, so maybe this was getting to him, just a bit. 

“Flunitrazepam is used as a hypnotic, too, in short term treatment of insomnia,” McGee said, sounding like he was quoting straight from Abby's notes. 

“It's more than just making the victim... Tony, easy to subdue and make sure he wouldn't remember anything. Especially because of the slow progression of things. I don't know if it's a necrophilia thing or a Sleeping Beauty thing,” she paused to smirk at him, as if she hadn't just compared him to a Disney Princess—or because she had. “But it is obviously a factor.”

“Aren't they pretty much the same thing?” Tony asked, escaping to humor. “I mean, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty... Both looked pretty dead when their princes swooped in to suck face.”

“I'd say somnophilia more than necrophilia but thank you for ruining my childhood memories in either case,” Kate said dryly. “Of course, according to Andrea Dworkin all men fantasize about sex with dead teenage girls.”

“Not a teenage girl. Also, what the fuck?” 

Tony looked at the other men to see his dismay and disgust on their faces. Okay, so Gibbs was just blinking, but he chose to interpret that as dismay and disgust. 

“How does that help us?” he asked.

“Well, I don't think he's suddenly going to turn Jeffrey Dahmer on us or something. I don't think he'd be able to leave in between if he was going to... Tony?” She paused when he stood up so fast his chair rolled back a few feet.

“I think I'll go back to Abby's lab,” he said, weakly, his stomach roiling at the memory of the details of Dahmer's crimes. He'd rather picture Disney princes as necrophiliacs than that.

Gibbs seemed to read his mind again.

“Just as long as you don't go Sleeping Beauty on us again.”

“I don't think I have the body for it, Boss,” he said, and maybe it was far from his usual standard but he was pathetically grateful for Gibbs for giving him that tacit permission to hide behind humor. 

\- - -

The brief flash of Tony's usual joking was long gone by the time they left work. Gibbs kept shooting glances at his quiet passenger all through the way to his place but the younger man kept his head turned towards his window. 

His posture radiated defeat, like he was resigned to what ever was going to happen. 

It made Gibbs angry but not at him. Angry at this anonymous assailant who could reduce his Tony to... 

_His Tony._ He cringed at his own thoughts because he knew that the words didn't mean what they used to, they were not just designating the man as part of his team. No, they were fast coming to mean something far more dangerous than that. 

He knew he was a possessive person, and he was that about his team, too, but in his personal life... he was even worse. He didn't even know which had destroyed his last marriages—the possessiveness, or the fact he wasn't displaying it in the end. 

If he let these feelings take root, it would become hard if not impossible to go on as they had, to simply be a boss, a colleague, and not show how much Tony's dating adventures were affecting him.

Then again... He thought about the very short list of people they had spent the last days going through. Maybe the adventures weren't as extensive as he made it seem. Still, just because he didn't take them to his own home it didn't mean he was any more open to an actual relationship, maybe even less. Or that he was open to anything with another man. 

He shook his head physically to clear the thoughts. Quite apart from anything else now was hardly the time to be thinking about that, and the other man's uncharacteristic silence was a stark reminder of the situation. 

His Tony would be talking mile a minute about movies, about what he was seeing, about sports, about anything and everything that came to his head, just to fill the silence. He would make jokes, and Gibbs would roll his eyes, bite back scathing comments and generally do his best not to laugh out loud or slap him around until he shut up.

He never, okay, seldom, _really_ wanted him to shut up. Not like this, and never for good.


	4. Stupid Poetics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Perpetrator POV.

It was so easy, too easy, to get into the house again. He had been worried they'd change the locks or something, get a chain. It wouldn't have stopped him but it would have slowed him down. He had come prepared but they had made it easy for him. 

His Tony had made it so easy for him all this time. And there he was, waiting for him in a bed which was his natural habitat. A person as sensual and beautiful should never be anywhere but in a bed. Or maybe a shower. 

He smiled at the images in his head. Yes, a shower was also acceptable. 

He didn't rush in the stairs, there was no hurry. The old man was asleep on the sofa, and Tony wouldn't go anywhere. No, his Sleeping Beauty would wait for him forever, right there in a bed, waiting for a kiss. Only this Sleeping Beauty didn't wake up when kissed and that was exactly as he wanted. 

He'd kissed him so often, Tony's lips slack under his own, his neck salty and inviting, his body unresponsive under his, no matter what he did. And he had done a lot. Oh, how he'd touched and stroked and caressed, marking the skin, the body as his. Always his. But he'd been pacing himself. Not too much good at once. The anticipation was almost the best part. 

But tonight was the night, tonight he'd take the final step in possessing the beautiful body he'd been dreaming of for so long. He opened the guest bedroom door silently, and let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He had been a little worried Tony wouldn't be there, but there the man lay, on his side, facing the door, his luscious lips parted just a little as he breathed evenly in deep sleep. 

His Tony. Tonight, he'd take the final step, and then the man really would be his, forever, and no one could take him away. Not the man downstairs, not anyone.

He stepped into the room and froze. 

The man in the bed had sat up, shedding the blanket and showing himself to be fully dressed and armed. 

Still frozen in place, Victor E Mayer looked into the clear, open eyes for the first time, and saw a person he didn't know. This wasn't his Tony, relaxed and pliable, this was someone who had killed people, who wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. Someone not helpless. 

Still in shock, he failed to notice another person sneaking up behind him (silent, so silent in the old house) until rough hands were cuffing him. 

He almost didn't care. The game was lost at the look in Tony's eyes. He wouldn't even have needed the gun. 

The gun that was still pointing at him. 

\- - -

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs said in a commanding tone, but the younger man ignored him—or didn't even hear. 

He looked grim, determined, standing up now but keeping his pistol trained at the now cuffed prisoner (who looked familiar, maybe, but Gibbs couldn't figure out from where). 

“Tony,” he said, in a softer voice, when the arm holding the gun didn't lower. 

Tony turned to look at him, and the grim determination on his face threatened to crumble. Gibbs hastily pushed the prisoner towards McGee and Kate who had joined them in the hallway, and heard Kate reading him his rights. His own attention was on Tony. 

“Tony, give me the gun.”

The younger agent looked at his weapon as if having forgotten it, even though he was still holding it up. He surrendered it easily, and all the strength seemed to leave his body. He sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the bed, looking young and lost. 

Gibbs crouched down in front of him, hand on his shoulder. 

“Okay?” he asked. 

“Peachy.”

\- - -

Tony had no idea what he was feeling. Finally confronting his ghost stalker was... it was good. Made him feel less vulnerable, if only for a moment. 

He hadn't slept all night, after they had finally figured out how he had been drugged, and he knew he'd crash when the adrenaline ran out. He wished to be in Abby's lab by then. He might never sleep anywhere else again. 

He knew Gibbs would never allow him to sit in the interrogation, and he found he didn't even want to. They knew _how_ , now, and _who_ —he didn't really care about _why_ at the moment. He was sure Kate would tell him afterward. And as long as she viewed him as a victim, she might even soften the blow with careful word choices. He found he didn't even mind. 

He wanted to... he didn't even know. Maybe he didn't want to know. Of course he wanted to know. He wanted to know what the hell he could do to make someone fixate on him like that, to act like that, was it something he did? Something about the way he was? The way he dressed, the way he talked, the way he smiled, flirted, joked? The way he looked at people?

(At this point a voice like Abby's told him to stop being stupid.)

\- - -

Tony fell asleep in the car. Kate and McGee were driving the suspect to the Yard, no one had wanted him in the same car with Tony. Gibbs slowed down, wanting to maximize the time the younger man had to nap, even if part of him wanted to be in the interrogation room already. 

He wanted to know who the man was, how he had evaded them for so long, and what the hell had he been... well, no, he didn't actually want to know what the man had been thinking and planning. He didn't want to hear the justifications and rationalizations he'd come up with to explain his acts. 

He wanted to beat the man into pulp and cut off his dick before feeding it to him, which wasn't really the mindset one should carry into an interrogation. Being angry would get him no closer to the answers they needed, nor would killing a suspect in custody help Tony one bit. 

He parked the car, hoping the lack of movement would be enough to wake the younger man up. He didn't know how to safely wake him up, didn't know whether Tony would be happy over falling asleep so easily. Maybe it was because a moving car was safe, Gibbs' company was safe. Maybe he was just too exhausted to stay awake once the excitement of the arrest was over, maybe it was relief over having the man in custody, maybe... 

Maybe Gibbs should stop avoiding the issue and wake the man up. He didn't think a touch would be welcomed, even on the shoulder. He knew Tony would hate being reminded of being a victim, of being spoken to softly and carefully. So in the end he barked, “DiNozzo!” and Tony's head shot up, eyes wide and body straightening as in attention. 

“Go sleep somewhere else,” Gibbs went on, as if this was any other day, and just when he was starting to wonder if this had been a wrong tactic after all, Tony shot him a quick smile, small as it was. 

“I suppose I should take advantage of the last time you'll ever encourage me to nap on the job.”

“Ya think?”

\- - -

A phlebotomist. Victor Edward Mayer was employed as a phlebotomist at Bethesda, had drawn blood from Tony some nights during his stay in the naval hospital. No wonder he looked familiar but hard to place—Tony had been too out of it due to the plague, and Kate and the others had been too concentrated on him.

The man had been intimate with his veins, touching him in the guise of medical care for who knows how many times, and that thought just made Tony feel even more unclean. Like he wanted to scrub his veins, too. 

Also, he never ever wanted to stay in a hospital again. At least he wanted the fingerprints and DNA samples of all personnel treating him on file. There might be some privacy laws to hinder the process somewhere but hell, it wouldn't be the first time the team bent the rules on their quest for justice. 

Or maybe Tony could just never sleep again. That sounded like a plan. His brief nap in Gibbs' car had revived him sufficiently that he had just sat on the floor in Abby's lab, back against the wall, staring into the distance but alert enough that no one could come near him without him noticing. 

He had also refused all food until Abby had bribed him with pizza. 

Gibbs and Kate had been busy conducting the interview, and McGee had been in touch with Abby electrically to keep them posted. 

Victor Edward Mayer. Was it better to have a face and a name to go with his nightmares? Well, one wouldn't have nightmares if one didn't sleep.

The man had been scarily competent. Son of a crooked locksmith with years of chemistry studies, and the ingenuity to come up with the mechanism he'd inserted in his shower head to release just enough of the stronger solution to get him dosed even with a short shower. Maybe he hadn't been aware of his marathon showers but even those hadn't given him dangerous levels of the drug, so the man was obviously a genius of some sort. 

Also a white male in his thirties, gainfully employed and without a criminal record, just as Kate's profile had predicted. Not that the info had helped them _catch_ him. 

And he was talking. Oh, he was talking, and at some point Abby stopped relaying the info to Tony because he just didn't want to hear any more. At least a confession meant there was no need for a long trial where he would have to testify.

\- - -

Gibbs picked up a quiet Tony from the lab at the end of the day. Mayer was in jail awaiting conviction, and their reports were written. Case closed. 

The only thing left was the victim, and damn if that wasn't the hardest part of a case, and one the team didn't usually have to deal with. Tony had bounced back from the plague, from stints in deep cover, from hostage situations, bad relationships... but could he come back from this? 

He looked pale, and somehow both very young and very old where he was sitting in a corner in Abby's domain, hugging his knees. His clothes were baggy, his hair unbrushed, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. It looked like he hadn't moved since sitting down that morning. Hell, it looked like he hadn't closed his eyes since then. 

“Come on, Tony,” he said, offering a hand to help the younger man up. “Let's go home.”

“Is it over?” His voice was almost toneless, expression wary.

“Yeah.” Of course it wasn't, not by a mile, but the investigation was, and that was all Tony was asking about. 

“Okay.”

When Tony was up Gibbs found he didn't want to release his hand quite yet. He did, of course. The last thing Tony needed right now was his boss getting weird on him. And holding hands would probably qualify as weird. 

They got to the car and out of the Naval Yard until Tony spoke again. 

“I don't want to go home.” 

“Your stuff's still at my place,” Gibbs said, simply, and as Tony voiced no complaint, he drove them home to his place. 

\- - - 

They had stopped for take away on the way—not Chinese—and ate it quietly in the kitchen. Both men were avoiding the living room and the couch, possibly for the same reasons. Tony found he didn't quite care. He'd sit all night on that couch, though, over stepping into the guest room ever again. 

He tried to object when Gibbs herded him upstairs, but was unsurprisingly overruled. What was surprising, though, was their direction. Gibbs led him to his own bedroom, then left him standing by the door while he changed the sheets on the bed. 

Tony had never been in the room before. It was light, sparsely furnished, and there was nothing much on the bedside table. There was no personality in anything in the room, like Gibbs didn't even live there, didn't spend much time there. He wondered briefly if that was a reason or a result of him often sleeping in the basement. 

Somewhat bewildered, but still in that comforting gray haze where nothing could touch him, and no thought nor emotion lingered, he went to the guest bathroom to change. Long-sleeved t-shirt, track pants. He knotted the drawstring so tightly he'd have to cut it open in the morning. He knew it would make no difference if someone was determined to assault him—they could cut it just as easily. But as it made him feel that tiny bit safer, he let the instinctive side rule over the rational.

He sat on the bed, trying to puzzle what was going on, and then Gibbs took out his gun and sat on the floor, back against the closed door, pistol on the floor next to him. The message was clear: anyone trying to get in would have to go through him, and suddenly Tony felt like crying. 

He wasn't weak, he wasn't a helpless victim, he could protect himself—had protected himself, just last night. But... but the same instinct that had him knotting himself into a poor man's chastity belt also knew that nothing bad could happen as long as Gibbs was there, guarding him.

“Boss...”

“Go to sleep.”

“But...”

“I'm not reading you a bedtime story.”

The haze disappeared, the world was bright and fast and loud again, and Tony laughed because it was that or crying, and he wouldn't, he hadn't, and he would never give that creepy vampire-wannabee the pleasure of breaking him. 

He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. 

\- - -

That was the last night falling asleep was easy. He tried the guest room, the couch, Abby's lab, but the only way he could sleep was if Gibbs was in the room. His brain had latched on the security he presented like a human-sized teddy bear, and refused to quiet down anywhere else. And the last thing he wanted was to ingest chemicals to achieve oblivion. No drugs, not even booze. 

Staying awake for a day or two usually gave him a few hours of sleep the following day, as long as he was alone with Gibbs. 

His boss offered to sit and guard him every night, of course he did. But even the superman needed to sleep sometimes. So... Tony suggested a compromise.

“It is your bed,” he said, quietly. He could see the denial on Gibbs' lips and went on, “It's big.”

He didn't say, “big enough to share,” but Gibbs got it, judging by the stillness that took over his body. 

“You'd be comfortable with that?” 

He shrugged. Gibbs meant safety, apparently. He figured it'd be fine. And if it wasn't, at least Gibbs would get some sleep. He sat down on the side farthest from the door, though, keeping Gibbs between him and the world. 

They lay down in silence, and Tony found himself meeting Gibbs' gaze over the empty expanse of bed between them. It wasn't _that_ big a bed.

“You need a bedtime story?” he quipped, trying to project the confident, irreverent Tony of... well, before the plague letter, and was rewarded with a twitch of Gibbs' lips, the kind he was incapable of repressing when his mouth tried to smile against his will. 

“Good night, Tony.”

“Good night, Gibbs.”

\- - -

Tony slept. Better than he had in days, and he woke up feeling good. He was warm, comfortable, _safe_ , and he had all but forgotten what that felt like. It was astonishing what the mere presence of the other man could do to him... Presence? Presence that was a bit more... present that it had been last night. 

Tony was being held close against another human body, and where it should have made him panic, it merely made him feel... safe. 

He couldn't bear Probie standing behind him or next to him, and he could cuddle Gibbs? How did that even... And it wasn't cuddling. Oh no. He hadn't used that word even inside his head, he would never ever use that word in connection of his hardass marine boss. Who was looking at him from mere inches from his face, looking soft and... soft? 

“Morning,” he said, stupidly.

“Morning,” Gibbs muttered back, in a deep soft voice and damn, if Tony's body hadn't been against anything sexual happening for days now, that voice would have made him so hard he would be in a very, very embarrassing situation right now. 

As if this didn't already qualify. 

“Sleep well?”

“Uh huh. You?”

“Good, thanks.”

Maybe he was still asleep, and this was an eerily realistic though surreal dream. That could explain it. It would also explain why he saw Gibbs' face moving closer, felt a light touch of his lips on his forehead, as if the older man had just kissed him, lightly, casually, before getting up and padding towards the bathroom. 

But it's not like that could have ever happened, right? 

\- - -

Of course they had him seeing a counselor before clearing him back for active duty. And of course he could bullshit his way through any amount of testing now that he was sleeping regularly again. Which he was. Because Gibbs held him every night, and he had never slept as well. 

At work, things were like usual, Gibbs was short-tempered and growly and demanding, a fiend without his caffeine fix, but Tony doubted that was at least partly just an act. He never ever saw that under-caffeinated fiend in their bed. 

Their. Bed. In which they slept. Together. In Gibbs' house. Where they went after every work day, where they made food together, where Gibbs worked in the basement and he watched TV, where they never ever spoke about their living arrangements. Where Gibbs did his laundry with his own, where the kitchen was filled with his favorite snacks. 

He still tied his sleepwear tightly each night, cursing his own knots in the morning in the bathroom, fingers clumsy from sleep fighting against the slippery string. He didn't jerk off even in the shower, he didn't flirt, he ducked his head when someone showed any attention to him in other than a professional capacity. 

He knew he was stuck on unhealthy patterns, knew he wasn't getting better as much as getting better at hiding. He knew Ducky was worried, even if the man showed it by long anecdotes that had only tangential relevance to anything. He knew Abby was worried, because she kept leaving chocolates on his desk, and he knew his team mates were worried because he never, ever ate any of them. He never ate anything that didn't come from a vending machine, or a restaurant they all ordered in, or prepared by himself or Gibbs. 

He knew things were changing with Gibbs, he didn't know how, maybe they were becoming friends at last, maybe something else—the pretend family life they had going on was easy to slip into. It was easy to take comfort in the feeling of not being alone, of being accepted, of being protected. It was almost seductive. 

But it wasn't healthy. 

They never talked beyond discussing food, chores, work. They didn't really do anything together after work, they were just existing in the same space, and... Tony wanted more. If he was to stay in Gibbs' house, he wanted to live there, not just exist. He wanted to live _with_ Gibbs, not just by him. He wanted... He wanted to be loved, not protected. Wanted, not tolerated. 

He wanted Gibbs, and playing house, and he didn't want it to be platonic or easy. He wanted the passion of shouted fights and desire-filled nights, he wanted to believe in the feelings he saw in the other man's eyes in the mornings, wanted to believe Gibbs wouldn't invite just anyone into his home, into his bed, into his arms, like this. 

He needed things to go forward, even if forward meant going back to his own apartment, because at least that would be something other than this stagnation. 

\- - -

“I need some time off,” Tony said with a decisive voice over their breakfast a few weeks after he'd returned to work.

Gibbs raised his eyebrow, suddenly afraid to open his mouth.

“I need to... I need to get away,” Tony explained, eyes on his food, then looked up to meet his gaze. “I need to get better.”

“But you are better.”

Tony's laugh didn't have an ounce of humor in it. “I'm not, not really. I can't even _sleep_ without you.”

“I don't mind,” Gibbs blurted out, and damn, when had he last blurted anything? 

“You should,” Tony said. “It's not fair to you, it's not fair to me... and it's not fair to us.”

Gibbs could swear he felt his heart skip a beat, as stupidly poetic as that thought was. 

“If there even is an us... but I believe there is. Or should be. But only if...”

“If...”

“If I can get over this.”

“Tony...”

“Boss, I gotta do something, I...”

“Jethro,” he said, the closest he could get to admitting Tony was right. 

“Jethro,” Tony repeated, letting a small smile twist his lips. “I need to go away so that I can come back to you.”

Stupid poetics it was, and Jethro leaned over the kitchen table to press a light kiss on the smiling lips.


	5. Epilogue

“Where the hell is my turtleneck sweater?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“You did the laundry!”

“Then check the damn closet!”

“I already did! All I found was your stubborn old ass in it!”

“Are we fighting about the clothes or the damn secrecy again? I've told you, we can't afford...”

“The sweater, just the sweater, I have no energy left to bang my head against the door. The closet door.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Find my sweater!”

“Tell my boss something that would force him to separate us at work?”

“Maybe!”

“Really?” Jethro sounded closer, and also surprisingly subdued. He didn't usually change tracks so fast in a fight. 

And boy, were there fights. Tony had wanted passion, and he had gotten it, in abundance. Mostly in the form of desire, true, but they butted heads constantly, being both way too stubborn for their own good, but it worked, it damn well worked, and Tony had actually been surprised how much of an equal he was in their private lives. 

Private lives that were very private, and that was starting to wear on Tony. He was happy, blissfully happy, content in his life and skin in a way he probably hadn't ever been, and he longed to share it with his chosen family, with Abby, Kate, even McGee. He wanted for them to see the Leroy Jethro Gibbs he saw—well, not the whole package, but the laughing, relaxed charmer he had at home, not just the growling and demanding tyrant they saw at work.

He knew the risks, of course he did, it was a miracle someone hadn't discovered their new living arrangements before. He had taken his extended leave, cleared his head, even seen a therapist, slept in the sun, and when he had come back he had sold his apartment and shown up at Jethro's door, tanned and smiling and missing him so badly it was like a physical ache. 

Jethro had looked older, tired, worn, but one night in their bed— _their bed_ —and they knew it would work, it could be good, _they_ could be good. 

And it was. Warts (fights) and all. But whenever they fought about anything, it turned into a fight about the same things. Closets and secrets. 

And Jethro had always given as good as he got, but now, here, he looked unsure of himself, an expression one never saw at work, and Tony rewound the conversation in his head to figure out what just happened. Oh.

“It's not that I don't want to work with you. I love working with you, and I'm not ready to lead a team, and the only reason I will leave your team is to move up. But I... Jethro, I'm starting to feel like a dirty little secret. I'm starting to resent hiding my things in case Abby pops by, hate not being able to share anything at work, hate the insistent questions about my love life when I have it better than ever but can't _share_ it with anyone. I just...”

“I know.”

“What?”

“I know I'm more of a private person than you, but even I would... our team, they're good people. Of course I wish I could tell Ducky he can stop worrying about me. But I can't risk losing you.”

“You wouldn't lose me.”

“I almost did!”

“Jethro...”

“And not even because... you just disappeared. After the thing with Meyer, you disappeared so far into your head I couldn't reach you. I held you every night but it was like holding an empty shell sometimes, it wasn't you, wasn't the man I'd learned to l... Wasn't whom I...”

Tony dropped the shirts he'd been holding. He knew Jethro cared about him, deeply, knew they were both in it for the long haul, but they didn't usually discuss their feelings. For 'usually,' read 'ever.' 

“I love you,” he said, helping Jethro in this as instinctively as he watched his six at work. “That doesn't change. Hasn't changed. I wasn't gone, I was hiding, and I found my way back.”

“Without me.”

“To you. I had to do it on my own, or else we couldn't have this, because I would be dependent on you for everything. Not just for... Damn it, Jethro. You're home. You're family. You're safety, but not in an unhealthy way. I'm not your kid. I'm not something to protect and hide, I can fight my own battles. And yours, too. Or you, what ever the situation calls for. That will not change. I just want... Abby's family too, you know?”

Jethro sighed. “Of course I do. And I love you. Because you're not my kid. Because you can fight your own battles. Or me. But that doesn't mean I have to be happy to be setting you up for a fight.”

“You think our team would tell on us?”

“Or purpose? No. By accident? Almost definitely.”

“And would Morrow do anything about it if he didn't have to know officially?”

“Hardly.”

“So...”

“What if I don't want to share?”

“Put that smile away, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, I will not be seduced out of this conversation.”

“Really? What if I remind you why you need that turtleneck?”

“Because you were so hungry you snacked on my... Stop tha-aaat...”

Well, it wasn't like they were in a hurry, and they had the rest of their lives to continue the fight. For now, he could remind Jethro how very much not breakable he was. 

And if he 'forgot' the turtleneck, maybe they wouldn't have to say anything to anyone at any point. The possessive look Jethro got in his eyes when looking at the marks on his neck would clue in even the Probie.

“Don't even think about it,” Jethro muttered against his collarbone.

“What?” Tony asked, his voice perfectly innocent.

“We'll have them over for lunch on Sunday or something.”

“Jethro?”

“And you're wearing the turtleneck.” He looked up, and grinned in the way Tony loved, because it made him look so young and carefree. “Because I am not sharing the way you're looking right now.”

He wanted to joke back, he really did. But Jethro looked so goddamn happy and free at the moment his heart did the almost literal twisty thing in his chest and he had to kiss him, more gentle than the situation really warranted. 

“I love you, you possessive bastard.”

“Your possessive bastard.” 

Well, it was good to know the mushiness could be catching. 

“Always.”

\- - -

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first NCIS story I ever started. Neith encouraged me to finish it, so all of my stories in the fandom are her fault. (I love you dearly, my twisted twin, and if anyone likes this, or my other stories, it's all on you!)


End file.
